


Weremicky

by gandalfthesassy



Series: The Monkees Reader-Inserts [9]
Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Fantasy, Multi, Supernatural - Freeform, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: It's not a coincidence they had Micky play the Wolfman. He's got a secret that's all too appropriate for the role.Rated M for graphic descriptions of wounds, and for (what I hope to be) smut. Hopefully it's not intense enough for an E rating.





	1. Chapter 1

You were sitting around the table when one of you finally noticed. 

“Hey, where’s Micky?” asked Peter as he looked around. Mike perked up from behind his paper, the front page blazing a warning about severe storms in the coming week. Davy didn’t seem to notice, still absorbed in his book and chomping on just-burnt toast. You were in the middle of pouring milk over your own bowl of cereal. Come to think of it, that carton of orange juice that would accompany Micky’s breakfast cereal wasn’t on the table either. 

“Aw, he’s alright,” Mike patted Peter’s arm, “he probably just overslept.” He fell quiet for a moment, as if listening for something. Sure enough, from the room at the top of the staircase--Mike and Micky’s shared bedroom--you heard loud, obnoxious snoring. “He’s  _ pretending _ he overslept.” 

“Hey (y/n),” Davy joined in, “he won’t get mad if you go wake him up, why don’t you do it?” 

“He’s not even asleep,” you protested. “Why can’t Mike just yell up at him like he always does?”

“Because you’re not usually here this early,” said Mike. “Come on, (y/n), it’s not that big a deal. You just go up, say, ‘Hey, wake up you lazy sack of shit and come get something to eat.’ It’s that simple.” 

“You’re meaner than I am, Mike. He’ll do what  _ you  _ tell him, but I’m nice. Micky doesn’t respond to people being nice to him.”

“He responds to me,” contradicted Peter.

“Well, he likes you!” 

“Not as much as he likes you,” Mike’s eyes twinkled for a moment, and Davy covered his mouth suddenly. 

“That’s not what I was talking about. I’m just saying,” you started to head up anyway, but you weren’t gonna stop bitching now, “it’s not like I’m gonna walk in there and he’ll be all awake and fresh and ready to go, like I’ll open the door and he’ll say--” 

Just as you were opening the door to the bedroom, Micky was right there and spoke: “Morning (y/n)! How’re you doing?” 

You froze and blinked. You snickered. “I’m alright. How...was your night?”

“It was okay,” he shrugged, running his hands quickly through the mess he called his hair. He went past you and slid down the railing. You dashed after him as he took your spot at the table, despite there now being five chairs (one you bought so you’d stop having to take one of their places every time you came over). 

“Micky!” you yelled, but you couldn’t help laughing, as the others did. You went ahead, swept your cereal from in front of Micky before he could take a bite, and sat down in his spot. “If you want some, it’s in the pantry.”

“There’s more orange juice,” Peter added, “I bought some yesterday.” 

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” Micky put his chin in his hands and stared boredly at the table. You, Mike, and Peter exchanged a glance of surprise before you all looked at Micky. 

You lowered your voice and leaned to your left to talk to Mike. “Is this normal?”

“Well, it’s regular, but it’s only every few weeks,” Mike whispered back. “He doesn’t sleep that well when it’s a full moon and when he gets up he’s not hungry. It’s weird, because he eats a bunch the day  _ of  _ the full moon, but then the next morning, no appetite.” You nodded as Micky suddenly brought his attention up to the two of you. You sat back and smiled brightly at him. 

“You sure you don’t want anything?” you asked. “If you’re feeling lazy, I could get you something.” 

“No thanks,” Micky replied and you noticed his energy was even lower than normal. He wasn’t  _ always  _ as crazy as he appeared to everyone else--you’d seen him at one of his lower points emotionally, despite his insistence that you let him be alone--but this was low even for him. At least according to what you’d gleaned from the others, mornings were some of his loudest times, followed closely by the few hours before midnight. 

You chalked it up to something he didn’t want to talk about, given how he wouldn’t look at you, and you struck up a conversation with Peter about the setlist for an upcoming show. But you filed that in the back of your memory, in case something weird happened again. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something else weird happens.

As it turned out, something weird did happen again. And it also happened on a full moon.

You knew the latter because you woke up with a moon forecast covering your face. You swatted it off, thinking it was trying to suffocate you, before you noticed what it was. Once you finally sat up and looked it over, you saw that day’s date and realized that it was, in fact, a full moon.

Upon smacking your lips, you tasted the remnants cheap beer in your mouth but your head was clearer than you expected. Maybe you hadn’t drank as much as you thought? To be fair, it’s not like you were throwing a bunch back. You’d had one bottle of beer, probably, and even you weren’t that much of a lightweight. Nothing of consequence seemed to have happened, other than you fell asleep on the couch. You called out to the main room of the apartment: “Anybody know what time it is?”

From behind the counter, you got a reply. “Almost noon!”

“Thanks!” you called back. You got up and walked over. “That’s Peter, yeah?”

“That’s me,” Peter peeked his head up and waved. You leaned against the other side of the counter. “Just picking up a bit. Remember when Davy accidentally knocked over that old teapot we got from Mrs. Gray?”

“Oh yeah. God, that was funny. I didn’t want to laugh, but he wouldn’t stop crying about it. He looked ridiculous. Wasn’t it like, five dollars?”

“Not even that. It was from Goodwill. But we forgot to pick it all up, so I’m just cleaning.” He went back to work and you stared at the appliances against the wall. When he stood up again, dust pan in one hand, he dumped the remains of the crappy teapot into the garbage.

“Hey Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Does Micky have something going on that I don’t know about?”

Peter blinked. “You know what, I get the feeling there’s something he’s not telling me either. He’s one of my best friends and yet he seems to be holding something back from me too. I don’t know. But I know what you mean. It’s weird.”

“We should keep our eyes out for anything weird he might do. Especially tonight. Forecast says it’s gonna be a full moon. Weird shit happens during the full moon. And Micky is nothing if not weird. But what if he’s extra weird?”

“Everything he does is weird, though. Everything _we_ do is weird. It’s kind of why that TV producer wanted us to go through with that pitch.”

“Which pitch? The one with you all basically just playing yourselves?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh yeah. Why didn’t that go through again?”

Peter was about to offer his take on it when the door to Peter and Davy’s bedroom slammed open. Quick as a flash, someone darted out and threw open the fridge. He grabbed some leftover raw turkey legs and tore into them noisily with his teeth. You thought you should maybe say something, but you figured you’d let Micky do his thing and then possibly bring it up with him later. You shot a glance at Peter, who was so transfixed he didn’t even notice you look at him. When Micky finally cleaned off every bit of meat from every bone in the turkey, he dropped the last few bones on the floor and stood there trying to catch his breath. His tongue hung out, almost doglike, and his gaze fixated on the top of the fridge. If this was some kind of character he was working on, you were impressed, but something about the bit at the end made you skeptical that this was intentional.

It was you who broke the silence. “You want some help?” Micky leapt about a foot in the air and looked at you, genuinely puzzled. “You made quite a mess there.” You looked deliberately at the bones clustered around Micky’s feet. He finally looked, his senses starting to return to him.

“Oh,” he murmured, his voice coming from a million miles away. “Oh shit, that’s...that’s like an entire turkey. Did I eat the entire turkey?

“Well, I think Mike wanted to make a turkey dinner,” Peter tried to salve over the moment, “but it couldn’t hurt him to get a fresher one, I don’t think.” Micky didn’t move, just stared dumbfounded at Peter, who looked to you for something.

“Uh, Micky,” you got his attention immediately, “let me help you with that.” You walked over without wasting time and started picking up bones into your hands. Micky joined in after a few moments. You took advantage of how close you were to steal a few not-so-subtle glances at him. You always got on him about his monkey-like features (“you must’ve named the band after your face” was your favorite), but something about him was _more_ than that. Maybe it was his sheer audacity and fearlessness with his comedy, maybe it was how easily he could diffuse tense situations when you’d expect him to freak out, or maybe it was just that singing voice of his. Maybe it was all of those. Regardless, you weren’t sure at this point if you loved him platonically or romantically, or even sexually. You figured he’d find someone, and why would he bother with you? You had enough baggage that putting it on him wouldn’t do either of you any good.

“Hey (y/n), I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”

“I am,” you protested.

“You’ve literally dropped and picked up the same few bones twice now.”

You looked down to discover your hand tilted, the few bones you’d just picked up now on the floor again. “Oh shit. Well, guess I can’t make fun of you when I’m the one being weird.” You hurriedly got to your feet and tossed your bones. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, no worries,” Micky shrugged, throwing away the rest. “Let’s just, uh, pretend everything’s groovy, yeah?” His eyes cried for help.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed to save face. He sighed almost inaudibly in relief and rushed back up to his bedroom. “Wait, hold on. Peter, why was he in your bedroom?”

“Fell asleep on the floor, all curled up,” Peter reported nonchalantly.

“Curled up like how?"

“Like a dog.”

“A dog!” you repeated. You surprised yourself with how loud you said it and you covered your mouth. You moved your hands away and whispered: “Like a dog?”

“Yeah.”

You furrowed your brought, trying to think. “I wish I knew what all that means, but I feel like that’s of some significance. Well, maybe, maybe we need more evidence to figure out what’s going on with him.”

“Let’s keep thinking about this,” suggested Peter, “and if we see something weird happen again, we’ll...what are we going to do if this happens again?”

“Oh, well, we tell Mike, obviously,” you said. “Who _else_ could we possibly tell?”

“Who else could you tell what?” Davy leaned on the other side of the counter. You and Peter turned to him in surprise.

“That we don’t have any turkey,” Peter avoided telling the whole truth.

“Oh that’s a shame,” Davy slumped a little. “I was looking forward to that. I’ve heard about what Mike can do with birds.”

“Haha,” you rolled your eyes. “Very funny.” It took the other two a moment to get the joke, but they giggled.

“Not what I meant, but sure. I guess, (y/n), you and Mike might run out to get another one.”

“I’d be down for that, if he wants me along. I don’t think he needs me, though.”

Out of nowhere, Davy asked: “What were you going to tell him, by the way?”

You stopped short and blinked a few times before you found the words. “What’s there to tell?”

“Why did Micky suddenly run out of the room and eat all the turkey in the fridge? Even _he_ doesn’t have an appetite that big.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I was in the room. He leapt up and yelled, ‘I gotta eat!’ and took off. Pretty weird, if you ask me.”

“And you know how he always loses his appetite the night after the full moon?” you jumped in, confirming Davy’s suspicions.

“You know,” Peter thought out loud, “last night after the party ended, I swear I saw him on the balcony looking at the moon and uh, howling.”

“That one seems pretty standard for Micky, though,” you dismissed him, “especially drunk Micky. You know he really likes pretending to be a dog. He likes dogs a lot.”

“So?”

“You know that whole song, ‘I’m Gonna Buy Me a Dog?’ Like this, _I’m gonna buy me a dog_ ,” you sang the title line from the song.

“But you love dogs, (y/n), and you don’t act like he does.”

“I’m also not Micky Dolenz, if you hadn’t noticed by now.”

“What if he’s a werewolf?” offered Davy, startling himself in the process. “Oh God, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“No, no, that’s ridiculous! He’s probably a furry or something.” You made a face at the prospect of Micky Dolenz wanting to dress like an anthropomorphized character.

“I’ve never met a furry before,” Peter sighed in relief. “Are they bad? You don’t seem to like the idea that he might be one.”

“They’re not much better than werewolves. They, uh…”

“You can tell me. You’re not gonna corrupt me, (y/n).”

“I don’t want to think about it, actually. There’s layers of being a furry and some of them are less than desirable. For me, anyway.”

“Well, how bad can they _really_ be? Do they kill innocents so they can feed their bloodlust?”

“Hey, it’s ideas like that that keep werewolves from being granted the same liberties the rest of us have got,” Davy teased a little. You rolled your eyes--you knew when you were being mocked.

“Knock it off, you two,” you groaned, starting off towards the couch. “Micky is _not_ a werewolf.”

“How do you know, (y/n)?”

“Because they don’t exist. In books, maybe, but this is real life. And even if they _did_ , what are the chances the drummer of a really great underground band would be one? Slim to none.” You picked up your coat and threw it on.

“Then you’re not afraid to be in this house tonight,” Davy teased, walking over to you, “on the night of the full moon, when the guy you like might be a _werewolf_?”

“I’m not afraid,” you defended yourself. “I’d just like to sleep in your own bed.”

“Come on, (y/n)!” Peter piped up from the kitchen. “You care about him, don’t you?”

“And if you’re thinking of ever moving in with him,” Davy pointed out, but was cut off by Peter.

“Or us--”

“--then you gotta take the weird with the good.” You stopped partway through putting your coat on. You relented, sliding it off and tossing it on the couch. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Famous last words,” you said under your breath.

“Hey Mick!” Peter called upstairs. After a moment, Micky stuck his head out. “(y/n)’s staying the night.”

“Oh, groovy!” he beamed down at you. “Will you get us pizza?” You agreed. “Then that’s that. Movie night!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title drop! Oh yeah, and you meet the werewolf.

Movie night came and went. Micky had chatted excitedly all through the film, much to Mike’s dismay. He’d muttered something about this being his favorite film, but you asked him to give Mick a pass. So everyone put up with Micky’s bounciness all through the film (you never realized how weird it was to have him be _this_ excited). After everyone had gone back up to bed, and you’d picked up and tossed out all the pizza boxes, you lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. For all you knew, it’d be exactly like the movies: you’d hear something growling, you’d get up and there’d be something demonic at the window, and you’d be mauled to death. And your stupid, dumb face would be plastered all over the front page with some dumb headline about the “werewolf epidemic.” Not a great way to go.  

But you heard nothing all night. The hours wore on: eleven, twelve, one, two. When the full moon sat high in the sky, you felt your eyelids drooping. Not a sound was going to disturb you.

Except for the howl from the balcony.

You shot awake and rolled off of the couch with no grace at all. You scrambled to your feet and hid in the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had made the noise. You figured it must have been a coyote. Or a dog.

Or a werewolf. The figure lit harshly by the silvery moonlight stood on two legs and pointed its snout towards the sky. It howled again. You didn’t startle as easily as the others, but you shrank back as far into the wall as you could go. You could practically feel your guts being torn apart by the claws that glinted in the light. The werewolf (or at least, you guessed as much) spread its arms wide and called to the sky. You glanced around the empty room. How had the others not heard this?! Surely one of them slept lightly enough that they could hear a fucking _dog_ creature howling and screeching like it was.

Before you could react, the werewolf crashed through the door to the balcony and pawed over to the trash can. It took a box from the top and ripped into it, spitting chunks of cardboard this way and that as it growled. You noticed the brown hair on its back stuck out wildly, as if it’d been rolling around in something that made static. Once it got through one box, finding no food, it stalked over to the broken balcony door.

Your stomach growled. The werewolf perked up, one ear turning to the side. It sniffed the air and you wondered how on Earth it didn’t notice you before. “Shit,” you spat. “Fuck it. This is how I die. Come and get me, you freak.”

You bounded from the shadows over to the fridge as the werewolf turned to watch you. It geared up to pounce on you when you happened upon an old, leftover chicken leg.

“See this?” you asked it, voice trembling. “If you’re hungry, you can have this. I guarantee it’ll satisfy you, for now, not gross old human flesh like mine.” You mentally crossed your fingers and tossed the meat towards it.

The werewolf took it in one hand and slammed it into its mouth. Although it looked less than impressed with your peace offering, it took off towards the balcony and leapt over the railing. You ran after it, ignoring the broken bits of glass where the door should be, and made it to the railing before something stuck in your foot. You screamed in agony and leaned on your good foot. You clenched your teeth as you felt for the shard and ripped it out--you knew you weren’t supposed to do that, but better that you bled than get infected later. You pressed a shaky hand over the site to try and stop the bleeding.

“(y/n)?” You cried out in surprise and turned as fast as you could to the inside of the house. There stood Mike, paisley pajamas and all, half-asleep and utterly confounded. “Shit, (y/n), what happened?” He stepped gingerly across the glass, taking care to step around where the pieces had actually fallen.

“Werewolf,” was all you managed before you leaned faintly against the railing.

“You gotta be kidding me. And I had to go and miss it.”

“Mike, the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“I _knew_ there was a werewolf living around here!” Behind him, you saw a light click on, and Davy and Peter stepped over the crappy glass (they happened to be wearing slippers, thankfully, so you breathed a sigh of relief). “Our trash cans got knocked down last week and the neighbors thought it might be a bear, but I said, ‘Nope, those teeth marks are too big for bears.’ And I would know.”

“We get it, Nez, you’re a hick,” you rolled your eyes. “Wait a second. The werewolf had a really familiar fur color.” You looked over at Peter, then Davy. “Have either of you seen Micky?” They shook their heads dumbly.

“Oh shit,” Mike got the jist. “Werewolf Micky.”

“Weremicky,” Peter tried to lighten the mood but a look from Mike stopped him dead.

“Well, what are we going to do? It’s...God, what is it? It’s nearly two in the morning. He’s probably out there wrecking things by now.”

“All we can do is wait for him to come home,” you pushed yourself off the railing. “I think we need to just get to bed and not think about it. Thinking about it right now won’t do us any good.” The others looked at you, then at each other, then at you again. “There’s no point in trying to go after him.” They agreed. And so the four of you went back to bed.

The next morning, you were up at nine. The house felt emptier than normal. But you chalked it up to you not being used to this place and you got the broom out from next to the fridge. You then got the dustpan and set it beside the glass. As you swept up, you kept glancing up to see if there was any sign of Micky, as himself or his werewolf form. Seeing nothing, you nevertheless kept going.

You were one final sweep away from getting all of it when it hit you: Micky might as well be dead. If anyone found him in that state, he was at the very least going to be in jail. God forbid anyone try and shoot him--you were pretty scared yourself, you couldn’t imagine how badly someone else might have reacted upon seeing that. Knowing it was Micky, you tried hard to understand how it must have felt the first time he transformed, how scared he must have been, and how later he felt like he couldn’t tell anyone--not even you. Did he not know how much you cared for him? You wanted to help him, but you couldn’t do anything now, it was too late. And that only made your heart beat faster, more anxiously, and you stopped sweeping.

You slammed the broom handle to the floor and stood there crying. You sank to the ground, brushing away a few remaining glass shards so you wouldn’t harm yourself again. Without looking, you could sense the others entering and looking at you. “What’s the matter?” you yelled at them. When you looked, you saw Peter and Mike not too far away, startled by your addressing them. “Never seen someone lose it before? You’re fucking musicians, you oughta know how this feels by now.” You wiped your eyes, an embarrassed cringe rising to your face. You watched Peter pick up the broom and finish the job. “Thanks. I’m...I’m sorry. I saw him.”

“What are you sorry for?” Mike knelt beside you.

“For not stopping him. I should’ve gone after him.”

“You’re sorry you didn’t go after a ten foot high monster that could tear you apart? Come on, (y/n), you’re smarter than that.”

“Well, not much.” You sniffled pitifully. “I mean, _look_ at me! I’m trying not to throw a pity party but if I’d just fucking _told_ him I cared, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. And that ‘ten foot high monster’ by day is someone I’m, I’m interested in. I don’t appreciate getting teased for it. Fucking Davy. Not his fault either, but goddamnit!” You slammed a hand on the floor and started a new round of tears. Mike put a hand on your shoulder but you didn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry for teasing,” Davy apologized from somewhere near the trash can, where Peter dumped out the glass. Davy tied up the bag and removed it as he continued, “I didn’t think it was real either. But you obviously saw something like it.”

“It was a werewolf, I swear!” you yelled at him. “Jesus, the guy I like might be fucking dead and none of you believe me!”

“We believe you,” Mike told you. Peter nodded in agreement and sat on your other side. “And we’re gonna help you look for Micky.”

“I don’t know about that. There’s no point. He’s either dead as a wolf or dead as a person. Dead as in, in jail, or, or really dead,” you found talking hard and cried all over your hands. “God, I’m a goddamn mess.”

“Now wait a minute, (y/n). You really think he’s dead?”

“Well, what _else_ could’ve happened to him?”

A knock on the front door drew your attention. Davy went to answer it. He chatted for a moment with the person standing outside. You heard something like, “We’ll take him,” and you shot a glance at Mike before you stood up. Peter and Mike got to their feet as well as Davy came back in.

He was followed by a very shy--and mostly naked--Micky Dolenz.

Luckily someone had given Micky a large blanket that covered most of him up, but he still seemed conscious of how exposed he was. His fingertips had dried blood on them, which you noticed as you rushed over and threw your arms around him. The others piled on, turning it into a group hug. Everyone stayed there for a moment before you finally called out: “Okay, hug time’s over. Everybody get back to doing whatever.” The rest did as you suggested. You stayed in front of Micky for a moment before you asked: “Won’t you come sit down?” He bobbed his head, not in the mood to talk. The two of you sat down on the couch. Neither of you spoke for a good few minutes, hearing various background noises like the ocean in the distance and Peter and Davy chatting just loud enough from their bedroom.

You both started to talk at the same time. “You first,” Micky held out a hand.

“Micky, forgive me if this is too forward or too personal, but are you a werewolf?”

He didn’t look at you. He just stared firmly at his lap, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

“I uh, I saw a werewolf last night. And it had kind of a similar fur color to your hair color.” You scooted closer and put a hand on his knee. Before you could continue, he jerked away, but you didn’t stop talking. “I just want you to know that I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think you’re broken or damaged or anything, and I’m here to support you with this.”

“I remember something,” he murmured.

“You what?”

“I remember you. You looked so _scared_. You looked like you were gonna pass out. How could you say you’re not afraid of me?”

“I was afraid when I didn’t know it was you,” you explained quickly. “I was scared you were gonna hurt yourself, or somebody--”

“Or you.”

“Mick, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are. Everybody’s fucking sorry.”

You stopped. You stared at him. “How long has this been going on?”

“The werewolf thing’s only been around for a few years. A little bit before I knew these guys, and you. I’ve had weird blackouts my whole life, nobody thought it was special, they just thought they were, well, you know.”

“Weird?”

“Exactly. You don’t have to pretend like you’re not afraid of me. I’m afraid of me too.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. Now that, you know, I _know_ this is a thing, I can plan ahead and have something for you to rip into so you don’t destroy anything super valuable, like this couch, or a person.”

“Or me.”

“Oh, I’ll take one for the team, I don’t mind.”

“Are you into that sort of thing?” he teased a little, poking your side lightly. You swatted him away as you both laughed.

“No, I mean like I’m not valuable.”

“Wait, you think you’re not valuable? You think you aren’t important?” You shrugged. “(y/n), are you _kidding_? You’re the first person to witness the werewolf business and not run screaming. I get why others do, but you, God, you’re asking me questions, you’re, you know, sitting here while I’m basically naked beside you. And you’re still here after all of this.”

“I couldn’t just leave,” you told him. “I care about you, you know? I don’t know if there’s a cure or whatever, and I don’t know that it would even help. I’m here for you. I’ll be here as long as you want me, Micky.” You opened your arms and he scooted closer, laying his head on your chest and snuggling into you. You buried your nose into his hair, breathing slowly and deliberately.

“Are you like, smelling me?” he said softly.

“Not intentionally. But my nose is right here. Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. Just wondering.” He relaxed a little and shifted so he was practically melting into you. This wasn’t unusual for you two; when shit got really bad, you were always there to cuddle, and it helped the both of you reset. It was about fifteen minutes later when you finally realized something.

“You probably wanna get clothes on, I’m sorry.” You moved as much as you could under him, and he rubbed one eye with a fist.

“Yeah. No, I’m sorry, I’m just super exhausted.”

“I imagine you are. Go put something on other than this blanket. I’m not going anywhere,” you mussed his hair a little, to which he mussed it back to its original form and shot you a dirty look. He got up and trudged back to his room. You didn’t move for a moment. You pouted ever so slightly, kinda missing him, even though he wasn’t too far away.

“You two are so cute.”

You yelped in surprise. “Christ, Peter, how long have you been here?”

“I just got here,” he looked just as surprised as you. “Like, I walked over as Micky went upstairs. Are you okay?”

“I guess. I’m worried.”

“Me too.”

“Well, what if it happens again? What if he attacks one of us?”

“I really don’t think he would.” You looked doubtful, so Peter thought for a moment. Then his face lit up. “What if we came up with an action plan for when Micky transforms?”

“That’s not a bad idea. I’ll let Micky know we’re gonna work on it.”

“And I’ll grab the others.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. You're gonna face werewolf!Micky. Will you survive? Read on...

A month later, when the full moon came around again, you’d stocked up for whatever could happen that night. Micky spent the whole day pacing, worrying. Eventually you got up from your spot on the couch and told him to sit down. He did, but the look on his face didn’t go away. You dragged your hands down your face. “Mick, what’s wrong?”

“What if something happens? What if I hurt someone?” 

“We can keep throwing out ‘what ifs’ forever, but eventually we have to deal with whatever happens. Okay? Look, man, until we can figure out something better, just be careful. We’ll make really sure nothing happens to you when you transform. It happens when the moon comes out, right?”

“As soon as it gets to a point where you can see all of it, yeah.”

“What if it’s overcast?”

“Well, where it gets high enough where you  _ might  _ see it.”

“Got it.” Micky twiddled his thumbs and you sat next to him, taking his hands in yours. “You’ll be okay.” You looked right at him, hoping you didn’t come off as too much like a parent or older sibling. “I promise you’ll be okay. We’re here for you, and we’re here to protect you, and no one wants you to be safe more than me.” You brushed back the hair covering his forehead and kissed it. Before you could pull away, Micky turned his head up to you, and you realized how close your lips were. You drew back slightly. 

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Bullshit you don’t deserve me. You’ve had to deal with this for years and you haven’t had anyone who’s okay with it. As long as you don’t try to hump my leg, we’re fine.” He laughed and gazed up at you. You avoided his gaze, a little intimidated, but he tried to catch your eye and you looked back at him. 

“I like you, (y/n).” He waited for you to say something. When you just looked back, he started to talk again. “Shit, I’m sorry, do you not--” You met his mouth with yours, and he went still for a moment before kissing back. When you finally broke the kiss, his hands were on either side of your face.

“Of course I like you, Mick, there’s no way I couldn’t. I can’t imagine being in a relationship with anyone else.”

“We’ll see if this holds up after what’s going down tonight,” he remarked in self-deprecation, “I’m sure you’ll love me then.” 

“Hey, love doesn’t compromise,” you reminded him. “This isn’t a test of love or anything. It’s a matter of seeing if we’re prepared for you or not. And if we’re not, that’s on us, not you. You’re doing just fine.”

“I hope so.” You kissed him briefly and waved bye. 

That night, you took up the third watch at one in the morning, wishing Mike a good night as he stalked off. “Remember,” he whispered to you loudly, “if things get out of hand, you yell ‘Wolfman.’ Get it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” He disappeared into his room. You stretched yourself out before settling onto the couch. The waves lapped distantly on the beach in the distance. The moon shimmered in the sky, as if enchanted, as the night wore on. You shook yourself awake more than once, wishing you’d bothered to drink coffee or tea or  _ something _ . But you stayed the course. It was looking like Peter’s shift would start without incident, when you heard a familiar sound from the balcony.

Almost silently, you snuck into the kitchen and pulled out a crock pot full of chicken. The werewolf sniffed the air and turned to look at you as you started towards the balcony. It stalked towards you on all fours, staring at you suspiciously but still sniffing the air as it identified what you cradled in your arms. Although its fur stuck up, distrusting you, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you scattered some chicken on the ground, which the rest of you had picked up and cleaned earlier that day. The werewolf dove immediately and you moved back a half step, taking care not to move too quickly in case you might startle it. In seconds, the chicken pieces had been cleaned from the ground, and the werewolf brought its face up. In the shadowy moonlight from the open door to the balcony, its eyes seemed to glow faintly. You weren’t sure if this was some kind of enchantment, but you didn’t stare for too long in case it was something that could enchant you as well. Besides, dogs (or in this case, dog-like creatures) didn’t appreciate being stared at. 

You held out a hand. The werewolf sniffed, tilting its head as it sniffed all around. “Micky,” you said quietly, “I don’t know how much you’ll remember, but I think you’re gonna be fine. This must be one of your better nights.” But the werewolf just growled lowly and ducked its head. It prowled around, looking for something. You set the pot down on the nearest high surface and rooted through an empty cardboard box full of dog toys (graciously donated from a local shelter, collected by Mike of all people). You tossed a couple its way, and the last one you tossed ended up in the werewolf’s mouth. It shook its head around as it “killed” the toy, taking only about a minute to scratch and pull with its teeth before the toy lay “dead” on the ground. Luckily the werewolf went for another toy, which met the same fate. But even after about five toys, its eyes flamed red with what you could only assume was anger, or fear, or whatever made dogs want to play with toys so aggressively. It slashed at the air with one furry claw as it got up on its hind legs. 

You weren’t quite sure why, but you walked over and rubbed its forehead. You thought for a moment the werewolf would bat you away (and possibly devour you). But it didn’t. Actually, it panted loudly and roughly for a moment before it relaxed under your touch and breathed more gently. It growled without aggressive intent as it sank to the ground, curling up more like a person than a dog. Almost immediately, its chest rose and fell in what you rightly assumed was sleep. 

You stepped back and just watched it for a moment. You still hadn’t wrapped your head around the fact that this creature was usually in the form of a guy for whom you cared immensely.  _ This  _ was Micky Dolenz during the full moon. Not the weirdest thing you’d encountered, actually, but it was sure something. 

It was at this point you noticed Peter at his post, staring in amazement at what just happened. You shrugged and went over to where he sat, picking up a spare blanket. “Better for him to be like this than tearing into pizza boxes,” you told him. He nodded in agreement, putting a finger to his lips. “Nah, we’re good. He’s out like a light.” You glanced over at the sleeping werewolf. “Never thought I’d say this, but that’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.”

“Whatever you’re into, man,” muttered Peter. 

You glared at him. “If you’re thinking it’s like  _ that _ , it’s not. Only when he looks like a person do I think about anything like that. You can’t lust after someone constantly.” 

“I’m kidding, you’re totally okay. If you wanna get that close to him…”

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think I’d be okay. You’ll keep an eye out, yeah?”

“No, I’m just going to abandon you because you’ve tamed a goddamn werewolf,” he snarked. “Of  _ course _ I’m going to keep an eye out. You got this, (y/n).” You gave him a thumbs up as you went over to the werewolf, draping the huge blanket partly over it. You laid down, turned your back to its back and took what was left of the blanket. When you felt the exhaustion of your watch finally hit you, you drifted off to sleep. 

Not two hours after, you were woken up by fur tickling your back. You giggled a little at the tickling sensation. After you noticed Peter sleeping at his post, you turned just enough to see what was going on. The werewolf’s hair shrank slowly back into its skin, its breathing becoming deeper and more human, and its claws melted back into human hands with five fingers. You recognized at last, when the hair on its face had retracted and its nose sank back into the rest of its face, the same MIcky who’d been afraid to tell you the truth. 

You turned to face him as he stirred, his all-human face contorting in something like fear. You scooted right up to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead like you’d done the day before, and you slipped your arms around him protectively. In his sleep, you heard him murmur something, but even with your ear right next to his mouth you couldn’t make it out. You shushed him, stroking his back rhythmically and smoothly. The blanket had sort of half-fallen off; the cold swept over his exposed back, making him shiver, and you brought the blanket more fully over the two of you. His shivering died off and he fell silent again, save for his almost-snoring. You savored the way the moonlight danced across his face as you traced some of its curves with your fingers. You would’ve spent even longer doing so if he didn’t choose that moment to roll over and face away from you. You didn’t let him get too far, because you spooned him from behind, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m here, Micky,” you told him, knowing he couldn’t hear you but hoping he’d understand anyway. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make good on your promise that Micky will be okay. Specifically you make things super okay, in bed.

It wasn’t until you didn’t have a body in your arms that you realized you’d slept. You looked around, feeling foolish for sleeping on the floor. That blanket had gone missing, as had Micky. But the second you got up, you spotted both of them on the couch. Micky had his nose deep in some kind of pulp fiction novel. You cleared your throat a little loudly and got his attention. “Morning, (y/n),” he greeted you. “Or rather, afternoon. Well it’s actually noon _now,_ so whatever.”

“Mick?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” He folded the corner of his current page down and closed his book.

“How much do you remember from last night?”

“I remember the pain of transforming, and someone feeding me chicken. Probably you, yeah?” You nodded, a little surprised. “Yeah, and I dreamt that we spooned. I was the little spoon. Are you a big spoon in real life, (y/n)?” You glanced away, laughing in embarrassment.

“You didn’t dream the cuddling bit, Micky. I woke up once you changed back and you got all scared, so I just sort of...protected you? I think?”

“Why do you sound so uncertain?” he rose to his feet, tossing the book behind him, and walked towards you. “I’m glad you did. I also like this blanket you gave me. Sort of covered up my nakedness when I went to put clothes on.”

“Oh, well, thanks.”

“You know, this kinda smells like you. I’m sorry, that’s so weird, but like, you have this sort of...this like calming scent to you that I remember from being in my wolf form, and when you pet me I just sort of started passing out.”

“How long did you watch me?”

“When?”

“When you woke up to go get changed?”

“Not long. A minute, probably. You know you scrunch your nose when you sleep? Like this.” He scrunched his nose like a rabbit, and you covered your nose and mouth instinctively. “No, no, don’t be ashamed, it’s cute! _You’re_ cute, okay? I love you so much. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, Mick,” you told him sincerely. You gave him a little kiss, but he extended it, taking your hands in his.

Every cell in your body woke up. Every bit of energy you had from that moment went towards kissing him, and sliding your hands around his back as you two kissed, and threading one of them through his curls to bring him in as close as he could get. His own hands had found their way to your hips. The few times you took a moment to breathe, he made desperate, needy groans, coming back with greater fervor. By the time you thought to move to a more private location, you could feel his erection pressing against your leg, and you’d been equally aroused.

You placed your hands firmly on his chest and brought your head up long enough to ask: “How long have you wanted to do this?”

Micky had to catch his breath before he could respond. “Not as long as you’d think. A few months after I realized I liked you, I was like, ‘I’d probably bang you, why not?’ But I didn’t think you liked me back so I just kinda...you know.” You raised your eyebrows and he panicked. “No, no, not _that_! I uh, no, I just, I sort of suppressed it. But I’m not gonna lie, you did kinda pop up a few times. But I never thought...shit, I never thought it’d be like this.”

“Well, it is. Bedroom?” He tried to say ‘yeah,’ but you must have looked at him with an obscene amount of lust because he simply trembled and nodded. “You okay?” He nodded, tugging you impatiently towards the staircase. You stopped halfway up and squeezed Micky’s hand. He looked back down at you, and you asked: “Mike?”

“Out to lunch with Peter.”

“Davy?”

“Getting interviewed for a teen magazine. (y/n), _please_ , I need you.”

“Then let’s go!” you started going up again, to which Micky pulled you along and threw open the door.

He started to head for the bed, but you twirled him around and pushed him against the door, waiting for any kind of negative reaction before you made out with him again. Although he appeared to be caught off guard by your movement, he nevertheless responded quickly, his hands grasping at whatever skin he could reach. You pulled off your shirt and tossed it aside as Micky did the same, and as soon as you were both out of your pants as well he went for your neck. He hit a particularly tender spot and you gave a cry of pleasure, your body pressing harder into his. Losing your own patience, you coaxed him onto the bed and mounted him, grinding your still-covered crotch against his. He nearly mewled with excitement, his gaze hazy with disbelief and desire. You scooted back a little and spread your legs. You finally removed your underwear, throwing it gently at Micky, whose last little bit of anxiety melted with his laughter. He rearranged it so he was basically wearing it, and you burst into laughter as well.

When at last you caught your breath, you tugged his underwear off and gasped (with slight exaggeration) at his dick. You crawled forward so that you were seated not on his crotch, but on his stomach. The look he gave you might have killed you in any other circumstance, but it gave you back the confidence you’d been missing lately. You left him there for a moment as you crawled over to his bedside table. You found a condom almost immediately, to which you gave him a look that made him shrug and say, “I’m always prepared.” After you slipped the condom onto him, you positioned yourself so the tip of his dick was just touching your entrance.

His chest heaved, but you had to ask, just to make sure. “Do you still want me?”

All his words came tumbling out so quickly you nearly missed them. “God (y/n) yes, _yes_ I want you so bad I’m gonna lose my mind, please, please, I want to make love to you so badly.” And you sank onto him. He threw his head back. You began to move around him, your body trembling with all the pleasure, until you found you couldn’t move any faster.

“Micky,” you gasped, pleaded, and he sat up, cradling your face.

“Come on, (y/n),” he encouraged you, thrusting up into you and matching your pace, even as it started to slow. “You’re so beautiful, you put up with more shit than anyone _should_ , but you do it with such grace, I... _ah shit_...please (y/n), how do I make you come?” You caught your breath as the two of you continued, and you told him. He did exactly what you asked, and as soon as he did so you found yourself finding a rhythm again, gaining momentum as you both grew closer and closer to climaxing.

You kept it up for much longer than you’d ever gone before, the experience sublime at the same time that it was electrifying. Part of you wanted to stay in this forever, to just _be_ in these moments, feeling as you did, together with Micky on such an intimate level. His warm breath on your skin brought you back to the moment, and you realized this didn’t have to be a one time thing. This might just become a habit.

You weren’t sure what almost got you there, but moments later you were near your peak, and just as he came, he thrusted once, twice, and you climaxed too. He thrust up into you a few more times, riding out the high, and you gave him a sloppy but loving hickey right where his neck met his shoulder.

He slid out of you, took off the condom, and tossed it in the direction of his trash can. Thankfully, it bounced off of the wall behind and went right in. You excused yourself and headed for the bathroom to wipe yourself off, surprised you got as dirty as you did.

Not long after you went into the bathroom, Micky stuck his head in. “Can I come in?”

“I mean, we just fucked, so it’s not like I have anything left to hide,” you shrugged, continuing to clean yourself. He dried himself off too, though it took less time than it took you. “Wait. Did we...did we come at the same time?” You looked over at him. He scratched his head.

“I think I came first, but you were pretty fucking close.”

“Cool. (y/n) one, Micky zero.”

“Since when are you keeping score?”

“Since I’m assuming we’re gonna do this more in the future?” you requested, resting your chin on his shoulder and looking at the two of you in the mirror.

“I hope we are. I mean, if _you’re_ down for it…”

“With you? You know I am. But we both have to be into it, alright? We can’t do this _all_ the time.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Yeah. Ask first, then fuck.”

“Well, ask first, then _kiss_ ,” you corrected, moving to sit on the counter in front of him. “You’re a pretty good kisser.”

“You’re probably better than me.” You spread your legs just enough and opened your arms to invite him in. As soon as he moved towards you, you guided his face to yours and the two of you kissed slowly without any attempt to get deep or swallow each other--you just savored the other’s lips on yours. He pulled back. “I told you, you’re way better than me.”

“If you say so. _Wolfman_.”

“Oh god,” he exclaimed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t give me a nickname like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because ‘wolfmen’ are shitty versions of werewolves, which are _cool_ , and I happen to be one.”

“Well, let’s see. You’re a man, and you can turn into a wolf. Wolfman.”

“(y/n),” he sighed.

“Alright, alright. I won’t call you that.”

“Thanks.”

“In front of your friends,” you gave him a shit-eating grin, and he laughed a little and went back into the bedroom. He returned to you a few moments later with your clothes. You hopped off of the counter as he changed back into his. He was halfway through putting on his shirt when you stopped him.

“What’s up?”

“Can I wear that? Please?”

He did a double take. “I don’t know if this’ll fit you.”

You snorted. “You weren’t saying that a few minutes ago.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find a good comeback. Finding none, he took off his shirt and gave it to you. You promptly put it on with the biggest grin ever on your face. But when he made a grab for your shirt, you held it out of reach. “(y/n), come on!”

“ _You_ come on. I wanna see my favorite werewolf shirtless,” you teased him, walking back out into the main room and nearly dancing down the stairs.

“Not all of us are confident in their bodies,” he called after you.

You turned to him as he headed to your side. “Well, you know yours pretty well, so I’d say there’s quite a lot to be confident about.”

“Well. Okay.”

You cheered, “Awesome! Alright, let’s see if we can’t find something to eat in the fridge. I’m sure you’re starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally satisfied with the ending, but it's something. Also, this chapter is why this fic gets a Mature rating. You're welcome. 
> 
> Sex scenes get harder to write when you don't specify gender/genitals, so I did my best.


End file.
